Subservient Oral Exam
by ForeverMATT
Summary: Because, of all the things I could have said, nothing could have been more satisfying than the fact that you need me. -ONESHOT. Matt's POV. [Rated for Language.]


**Title:** Subservient Oral Exam

**Summary: **Because, of all the things I could have said, nothing could have been more satisfying than the fact that you need me. -ONESHOT. Matt's POV.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN.

**Author's Note: **S'up, homies? Been busy. Rest assured that I'm still all gung-ho over writing Dog of the Industry, but I've been dealing with personal matters. Haven't been feeling too well lately, but I've had a lot on my mind, and I just wanted to throw out a crappy OneShot to help me vent. So, here we go.

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><p>Toss me your guilt, I'll catch it in my heart, like velcro. Spout your problems into my ears until my head is so full it implodes, excess matter, thoughts and brains squirting through pores and blown follicles to paint the walls around me.<p>

The new Mona-fuckin'-Lisa.

Call me a saint for listening to you bitch, for aiding your plans, and for wordlessly following in your shadow, carrying a flashlight just to remind you that the world doesn't have to be so dark all the time.

I'm your own personal Orphan Annie, singing: _"The sun'll come out tomorrow..."_

Gangbang me with your anger, hump your load onto the face of my carefree nature. Spill into my innocence the taint you so willingly took upon yourself, you slut to social vulgarity.

And when all is said and done, wipe your semen-drenched dick of self-righteousness across the thin line that is my mouth, closed -for it is the one tool I have control over, and I don't use it unnecessarily. But it's different for you. Everything is a tool to you. You, your body, your parts, your guns, your lackeys, and me...

Me, your subservient little bitch, always taking your 'big red panda.' Yeah, that's what you call it. Your cock. Your dick. You big floppy dick when made un-floppy; it flexes angry red, veiny and pulsing. A small arm that packs a punch unlike any other; I would know.

Put it in my hand, my ass. Hell, slap me with it. Piss on me for all I care.

Just don't put it in my mouth. My mouth is virgin to all but the words I've spoken, and believe me, I speak seldom.

I've never uttered a curse word. Never took anyone's name in vain. Never threatened someone. Never even kissed anyone other than my mother -and that was on the cheek... so many years ago.

My body, tainted. My mind, a big orgy or orgasms fucking big red pandas fucking pussyholes fucking fucksticks fucking asses fucking... whatever.

You wanna see what goes on in my mind? Write down the most complicated algorithm you can come up with. Solve that after drinking a bottle of Jack, and if that doesn't do you in, find the square root of 3. Had enough? Now, after you've at least attempted the aforementioned activities, sit in front of a minimum of six monitors, each displaying a different porno. Jack off with your eyes closed, and then try to remember the pseudo-name of the porn star whose frantic wail milked your long dog.

It's not complicated; there is no consequence if you fail, but it's something to think about.

I think about a lot of things, most of which no one else could ever imagine.

I wonder what sort of conversation I might strike up if I had the chance to talk with George Washington. I imagine what taste I could expect from something that is allegedly 'Immortal Butterfly' flavored.

Silly thoughts aside, I believe I was telling you something, Mr Badass. Fuck me. Yeah, fill me with your words, seed me with that venomous white shit that will spawn a martyr within my wilting mass of organic matter.

Shower me with your putrid essence, for I am empty without your excrement.

Do what you will, use me, abuse me, love me.

Whatever you want, go ahead. But beware.

My mouth is my own. And the day I open it, the day I put it to use, and the day I make you listen... is the day I stop being a tool.

This isn't just your life, or even _our_ life. This is my life too.

And I've got a voice. You just haven't heard it yet. But when you do, will your ears be ready? Will your heart remain intact? Will your mind stay strong, or will it blow like mine has long ago?

Put the panda away. Tuck it into its leather cell. Shut your own damn mouth. And hear what I have to say. And then, at that most perfect moment when I have your full attention, when I don't say anything at all... count your blessings.

Because, of all the things I could have said, nothing could have been more satisfying than the fact that you need me. And in some sick little way, I'm the center of your universe. You do all the revolving, all the rotating, all the fancy shit, but in the end, you're still circling me, coming back to me, needing the little life I have to sustain your own.

And I like that... a little.

So my lips are sealed, pressed into a small, thin smile.

Count your blessings; I've already counted mine.

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><p><strong>Just some stuff thrown together. Not much, really. I just... needed to write something./**


End file.
